Spectral
I saw the German trenches as the French guns left them. They were filled with dead, but with dead in such postures as the world has never seen since the destroying angel passed above the Philistine camp in that avenging night of Scripture. It was as though some blight from Heaven had fallen upon them. There they stood in line, rifles to shoulder, a silent company of ghosts in the grey light of dawn. It was as if a deep and sudden sleep had overtaken them—only their eyes were open. They might have been there from all eternity thus, their rifles at rest: Anonymous.